


For a Second Chance

by paintstroke



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Feelings, First Kiss, Future Fic, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, Presumed Dead, Reunion, SHEITH - Freeform, Trope: Presumed Dead, Trope: The Galra Win, Trope: Zarkon Wins, Zarkon Wins, clone shiro theory, enslaved paladins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-16
Updated: 2017-12-16
Packaged: 2019-02-14 00:36:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12995979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintstroke/pseuds/paintstroke
Summary: Experience has taught Shiro to expect the worst, but sometimes it felt like the universe delighted in taking that to the absolute limit. To wake up after battle in a Galra stasis chamber, with the ship decaying around him and being torn apart by scavengers was bad enough. Learning that Zarkon had won, and that his ambition had opened a rift that blighted part of the galaxy was devastating. Hearing that Voltron was reviled as a cause of that destruction was heartbreaking, and knowing that the Lions had sacrificed themselves to hold the universes apart crushed yet another part of him. Shiro didn't trust for one moment that the new Emperor was keeping Paladins as "beloved guests" out of a sense of fairness. Then there were the dreams. And that wasbeforehe was captured by bounty hunters.But then again sometimes, just sometimes, in all the mess there's a glimmer of hope.A reunion may be a chance at finding some happiness in a dark future.





	For a Second Chance

* * *

Keith feels distracted, the stress of the mission clinging to him no matter how hard to tries to outpace it. It’s too much like the cape on his shoulders; irritating and likely to trip him up if he’s not careful.

He carefully ignores the Galran cadet who has been hurrying along beside him for the past few moments. Keith has painstakingly curated a stride that makes others struggle despite his short stature. 

The cadet finally gets the nerve up to speak, eyes glowing eerily in her lilac face. “Sir! Emperor Lotor has left a gift in your quarters - he wanted me to tell you it was from him.”

Keith’s ears flick backwards in distrust, screaming his emotions in a way that he carefully hides from his face. He studies the cadet out of the corner of his eye. “Did he say anything else?”

Keith doesn’t exactly expect any other information to be offered, but he feels like he needs to try. He’s not sure what he hopes for. A warning, perhaps. A hint of what it might be, or why. Yes, Keith’s latest mission had been successful in the end, but Lotor’s gifts were never without strings. And depending on the whim of the moment, a ‘gift’ could be a anything from a pile of paperwork to a new spacecraft prototype ready for testing. Lotor always enjoyed being unpredictable. 

“Just that you’d like it, sir. He wants you to enjoy tonight. Vrepit sa, sir.”

“Vrepit sa,” Keith automatically answered back, dismissing the foot soldier as he chewed over the possible intention. Passing messages along the lower ranks was irritating at best, Galra never seemed to get the nuance of a thing. It was often more confusing than a written message to Keith. 

Damn Lotor for liking it that way.

* * *

From the conversations he’d overheard during his transport, and from the armed guards that had shoved him through the doorway and locked him in, he had braced himself to stumble into the far wall of yet another jail cell. The door hisses shut without the sounds of anyone following him through. 

The silence hangs heavy around him. He waits for a moment. He can’t hear anyone nearby. Still expecting to be stopped, Shiro slowly reaches up with his bound wrists, pulling the rough-woven sack off of his head. The room defies Shiro’s expectations. 

“Revered guests of the Emperor” had been repeated too many times as he tried to get back in contact with the Paladins. He’d assumed it was a code for prisoners. But now he isn’t so sure. 

It’s definitely not a typical jail. 

If it _is_ a prison at all, it’s certainly the most opulent one Shiro has ever seen. The luxury is at odds with the handcuffs he’s been left in. He can’t quite tell if it is someone’s quarters or meant for him alone, in some strange twist to this latest abduction. There’s a blankness; a lack of personal touches on any of the surfaces that make him suspicious. 

The furnishings themselves are all in greys and purples, enough to firmly declare the room part of the Galra Empire. The bed is the main feature of the room, rounded and draped in fabric. It looks meant for royalty, especially onboard a ship of this size. 

A few small tables; some benches without backs that could accommodate even Galra with tails. An expansive window, or a projection of some sort, covers the back wall with a view of space. There’s food on one of the tables, but Shiro edges away from it, unsure if he should be worried about being drugged. Or poisoned; on purpose or by accident. Two smaller doors lead off of the main room. He waits a moment, staring back at the entrance way. He doesn’t want to be surprised, and he doesn’t expect to be left alone in here long. Making a quick reconnaissance Shiro peaks into the nearest door. A single metal pedestal stands in the empty space, with a few more of the uncomfortable-looking chairs. The second room appears to be a bathroom, with heated lamps and sands and depressions that could be for holding water.

Through all of his explorations, the only sound was the gentle hum of the ship’s engines vibrating through the floor, just a smidge above total and complete silence. The empty rooms feel like they need the ticking of a clock. 

He sits hesitantly on one of the benches. He tries to wait patiently, but it feels like he’s missed something important. Shiro gets more and more uneasy. 

Distant stars streak slowly across the viewer. 

Another few minutes and he’s opening the wardrobe. It’s definitely not a room originally meant for him. He finds clothing meant for someone smaller - the style looks vaguely Altean, but the colours match the room. He digs, but finds nothing that will get the handcuffs off. Still. He could grab one of the chairs and throw it, perhaps surprise whoever enters next. Maybe that would be enough of an advantage…

* * *

It’s a relief to have his hand on his own doorplate again, even if this room has never felt like home. The last mission had been too long. Keith stepped into his room with a sense of relief, pulling off his gloves and tossing them onto the side table, idly looking over the food left there to see if any of it counted as unusual enough to be a gift. 

He’s bone-weary and exhausted, and actually manages to shove one of the tidbits into his mouth before another he senses another presence in the room. 

He slides his blade out of its sheath as he chews, nonchalantly turning. He’s pretty confident he can handle any assassins. It’s not quite the ‘gift’ he’d expect from Lotor, but Lotor had proven to be anything but predictable. 

He’s not expecting a breathing reminder of everything that he’d lost in the war. 

His guts plummet through the floor. 

“Takashi….?” Keith whispers.

To him, the name is embedded in the screech of metal against metal, the burning of sparks thrown, the coppery spill of warm blood. He’d screamed that name on the worst day of his life, over and over. 

It hadn’t changed anything. 

It’s not only guilt that freezes Keith, but he hollowed out a space for that emotion in the remnants of his heart long ago. It’s the other feelings that rush towards the surface that he’s not sure what to do with.

* * *

At first Shiro doesn’t place the figure that strides into the room. Shiro’s balance shifts over the balls of his feet, ready to run, even as his hand raises despite the armlet locking it into a quiescent state. 

It takes seconds for the sight to sink in. His heartbeat thunders as he realizes the confident, almost-royal bearing masks someone more familiar. A moment later the knife confirms it. His hair is just as dark, just as thick and unruly, maybe shorter than he remembers, or maybe just partially hidden by large feline ears. Purple tones create a mask over his forehead and eyes, and in a flash, Shiro is reminded of Kolivan. The eyes that snap to him open wide, and the face, below its unfamiliar markings grows pale. Meeting Keith’s gaze is as physical as an elbow to the gut.

Keith says his name. 

Shiro’s stomach twists, and he hopes that he manages to contain some of his surprise. “Keith?” he manages, somehow. 

Keith looks shell-shocked, actually rocking back on his heels. 

He looks like someone should remind him to breathe. 

Shiro tries to make the surprise into a joke, mouth suddenly dry. “I rescued myself this time...” 

He’d once been able to read Keith like a book. It had once been an irritation that he’d been the only one to want to look, when there was so much there. Shiro searches Keith’s face. From experience he knows that the stillness of Keith’s expression will be the only hint of the battle raging within. But now, it’s not just the new markings, new ears, not just the years that have passed outside Shiro’s stasis chamber. Keith’s learned to close himself off more thoroughly. 

It’s been weeks for Shiro; since he escaped a stasis chamber on a derelict ship being gutted by scavengers. Long weeks with answers that made no sense while he searched for Voltron. He can see that time has passed out here, sees years and hard-won maturity etched into Keith’s face. 

Shiro reaches out, left hand trembling. Because of the handcuffs he can’t move as much as he wants. He cups the side of Keith’s face, running his hand along the edge of the purple flaring from the corner of Keith’s eye to his temple. A quiet acknowledgement of one thing that’s changed. He strokes along velvety, short fur. The touch is enough to break through the thoughts trapping Keith. Keith’s pupils shake, disbelievingly as he meets Shiro’s eyes for a heavy moment. 

Keith presses his head into Shiro’s hand, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. Tears are pushed into Keith’s dark eyelashes. When one falls, Shiro thumbs it gently away. As if that is a trigger, Keith steps forward, pushing his body against Shiro’s, twisting and ducking underneath Shiro’s bound wrists. 

Shiro freezes for a moment. “Keith,” he whispers. The tight arms grip more tightly around him as Keith’s answer. The sense of desperation really hits Shiro. How long had he been in stasis? How long had it taken that ship to decay around his stasis pod? Years? What had _happened_ out here?

He slowly brings his arms up, rubbing Keith’s back soothingly. He has no clue what else he can do, what else he can say without really understanding. But if Keith wants comfort he will try his hardest. 

They stay locked like that for ages, until Keith slowly regains control of his shaky breathing.

When Keith draws back there’s a quiet reverence to his expression. It’s one of the first times that Shiro sees - at least part of - the person he had expected. Time has hardened Keith’s features, that youthful roundness chiseled away, but the fond smile is the same. The way Keith clamps down on his unwanted emotions is the same. 

“I don’t even care if you’re not from this universe….” Keith barely breathes the words. He pulls back so that he can look Shiro in the eyes again. 

Shiro watches as Keith tries to draw a blank mask over his features. It hurt, to see him wall off like that, but Shiro knew Keith. Or had known Keith, at least. Looking anywhere but at Shiro, Keith inspects the handcuffs. A startled sound escapes him when his thumbprint actually releases the energy tether between them.

Shiro reflexively rubs at his wrists. “I’m..” Shiro knows better than to trust his memories. “Well, I think I’m from here.” He reaches out to run a finger up the edge of Keith’s ear, his own avoidant tendencies kicking in as he tried to lighten the heavy mood that had settled. “You look a bit different though…”

 _He dreamed of something like this. He remembers a battle where a blast of magic had broken an illusion to reveal Keith’s Galra heritage. He hadn’t cared in the dream. He didn’t care now._

Keith shrugs. This close, Shiro can still see the shimmer of tears clinging to Keith’s eyelashes. Regret settles heavily over Shiro’s heart. He would do anything to keep Keith from feeling like this, and knows that he can do nothing in the face of the years that have somehow slipped between them. He feels the tremor of Keith holding back; biting down on untold emotions..

Keith pins Shiro with a brief look, breathing out heavily and steeling himself. Keith licks along his lower lip. “You look the same as you did when you died.” Shiro tries to let the words sink in. Keith runs a hand along the side of Shiro’s head, rubbing gently at the undercut. “Or maybe younger?” Keith’s lips twist, not quite managing a smile, not quite managing the flippant tone he tries for. 

Shiro pulls Keith’s hand from the side of his head. Troubled, he presses a kiss into it. “I never died, Keith.” he promises, feeling the warmth of Keith’s palm against his lips. It comes so naturally to him that it takes a heartbeat to realize that he’s shifting their relationship. The strange situation has shattered whatever barriers he had put between them before, because now the touch feels easy. Feels right. 

Maybe you do realize what’s important only when it’s been taken away from you again and again and again. _I love you,_ the words vibrate in his chest, demanding to be spoken. But Shiro swallows them and waits to see if Keith will react. 

Keith shakes his head, pale again. His long bangs partially obscuring the new facial markings, cover his eyes as he looks away from Shiro. 

Shiro leans his forehead into Keith’s, breathing out heavily. “I don’t really know what happened,” he admitted, something too close to his heart for it to be easy. “But that wasn’t me. I swear.” But he’d practiced these words. He’d expected to have to tell this story. He leaves out the dreams, still too confused to try to parse what they mean. He’d never put much stock in psychic connections before the Black Lion, and this was far too far from the science he was comfortable with. Shiro’s mind catches on that thought, and he starts hesitantly, “The Lions…”

Keith flinches. 

Shiro watches the top of Keith’s head. Keith’s eyes slam shut, tears finally spilling off of those dark lashes, although his jaw is locked and he. “The Lions are gone, Shiro.”

Shiro’s eyes soften. “I know. I couldn’t hear them when I woke up.” Shiro runs his hand up Keith’s shoulder. He’d heard stories. He’d been offended and heartbroken when derision was the response to asking about Voltron, and eventually had pieced together some bits of the stories. Zarkon taking them over, trying to open the rift further. A blight spreading where the rift-creatures touched, poisoning entire galaxies. A final sacrifice from the other Lions, who now held the Universes apart with their sentient grace. The true defenders, but reviled for the destruction they’d released.

Keith seems to deflate under Shiro’s touch. “It was my fault,” Keith says.

“I doubt that,” Shiro murmurs. He hadn’t been able to believe the stories he’d heard from travellers. Nothing had really made sense. 

“I couldn’t kill you,” Keith mouths the words, barely any volume behind them. Keith’s lips press tight into a flat line. “I couldn’t kill you,” he repeats, only slightly louder. He hangs his head. “I let Zarkon win.” Faint fangs indent the softer skin of his lower lip. 

He looks up at Shiro, something manic and pained in his dark eyes. Keith steps in close again. “Can I?” Keith asks in a rough whisper, fingers tangling clothes that Shiro’s vest.

Shiro swallows and nods. He’s unsure of exactly what Keith means but doesn’t care. Keith shoves the worn vest apart. Keith’s fingers seem to stumble over the fasteners on the shirt beneath as they push the fabric open. Shiro holds his breath as Keith focuses an expanse of skin unmarked by scars. 

Keith hands settles heavy against his chest, a warm weight over his pounding heart. 

Shiro watches Keith’s face as Keith traces a line there, face blank and ears pinned back. 

_Shiro remembers dreaming of the last link between him and the Black Lion severed by a sword driven through his chest from a presence behind him. He remembers shock before pain, of the surreal sight of his blood spilling out over the blade, over Keith pinned beneath him as he collapsed._

“You died trying to force my blade away from your throat.” Keith admits, and the way his shoulders collapse tell Shiro that it’s still a heavy source of guilt. 

If half the dream flashes are true… well… Keith _should_ have killed him. Should have killed that version of him long before Lotor was desperately urging it.

“That wasn’t me,” Shiro repeats, helpless at the moment, no matter how badly he wants to take the weight of this burden away from Keith. 

Keith stares through him, memories clouding his expression. 

Shiro realizes the other difference he can see in Keith here, underneath the new form, underneath the years. It’s an acceptance of the pain. 

He looks like he’s stopped fighting. 

Keith’s fingers trace that line over and over into Shiro’s skin, and Shiro shivers. The story paralleled his dreams too closely to be a coincidence. Those half-remembered nightmares and violent headaches took on a new sort of sinister repulsion. Like he had almost been there.

His gut roils.

“I wish I could have been there with you,” Shiro whispers, his own emotions threatening to spill over. He pulls Keith into a tight embrace. “I’ll always come back to you. Always,” Shiro promises gently against the unfamiliar ear. 

There’s a desperation that Shiro can feel through Keith’s touch as Keith returns the hug like it’s a lifeline. 

Shiro raises his hand, stroking the back of Keith’s neck. He keeps Keith tightly against him. It’s selfish, he knows, but he can’t help but clutch at this moment. The universe keeps trying to take everything from him. From them. 

He’s shocked when he touches the thin collar around Keith’s neck. Slender, in cool tones of white and grey, it looks almost like jewellery, and had blended into the outfit before. His fingers skim the skin just underneath it. “You too,” he comments, trying to keep his voice light but it’s rough with the weight of the discovery. He thought his own collar was unique. The memory of pain searing into his system during his last escape attempt… he doesn’t want to think about anyone else undergoing that. 

“Beloved guests,” Keith mocks the phrase with a dark expression. “The best insurance for our cooperation is inflicting any punishments on the other Paladins.” His face twists with disgust.

Shiro’s understanding grows. “And the others…?” he starts, but the words fail him. He’s afraid of the answer. Keith seems so alone here. 

Keith nods. “Pidge and Hunk are at a research station near Unneki. Matt and Slav too,” he adds. “Lance and I are more useful for the army. I’m sure you’ll get to see them soon. Visits are often bribes or rewards.” 

“Do you get to see them?”

“Not often enough,” Keith admits after a short pause, surprisingly honest. Warmth flares in Shiro’s chest, even as he wonders if Keith has found others to be this open with. There’s a dark part of him that still wants to be someone special to Keith. That wants Keith’s trust when no one else can attain it, even as he hopes with all his heart that Keith has grown enough in this twisted world to trust others. Keith stumbles over Shiro’s silence. “They… they’ll be so happy to see you.” Keith closes his eyes and catches Shiro’s restless hand; stilling them in a gentle grip. 

“And you?” Shiro keeps his voice soft.

Keith looks back at Shiro fondly, but with the distinct impression that Shiro is being ridiculous. _That_ expression hasn’t changed with time. 

“Keith…” Shiro starts, before his voice shatters against the emotion tightening his throat. “There’s so much I never got the chance to say…”

Keith’s expression crumples slightly. “Shiro–” 

There’s too much pain in the way Keith says his name. His heart cracks open. Shiro shakes his head, not following. “Please, just let me–”

“Don’t.” Keith chokes. “Not here. Not now.” He presses his thumb over Shiro’s lip, as if that could stop the words, the emotions behind them. He quickly follows the gesture with soft words, just under his breath as he leans in close to Shiro. “I’m sure he’ll be listening somehow.” There was a pained plea in Keith’s eyes as he pulled back, something that smooth away sharp sting of the rejection. 

“He?” Shiro asks, although he knows exactly who stepped into the power vacuum after Zarkon won. 

“Lotor,” Keith confirms, forcing a smile with no warmth behind it. “He’ll use anything he can against us.” He searches Shiro’s face, as if looking for understanding.

Shiro wants to push forward, to ignore the danger that Keith has kept trying to warn him of. Between various crews and space stations in the weeks since he’d been released from stasis, he’d convinced himself that he needed to do this. But that was before he’d been sold to bounty hunters and collared by the empire. 

Shiro wants to tell Keith not to care. Not to waste another moment behind masks and walls. Keith leans his head against Shiro’s shoulder, and Shiro aches with how much he wants to say everything in his heart. 

He sighs and pulls Keith close, saying with gestures a small fraction of what he can’t put into words.

* * *

Shiro’s heart hammers as he watches Keith walk towards the bed. Keith only grabs a blanket, tips his head towards the window. Shiro trails after him, and the dynamic suddenly feels familiar. It’s not a futon in a desert shack, but the way Keith stretches out in the window is achingly familiar. 

Shiro knows this routine. He settles his own body in across from Keith, nostalgia nearly overwhelming him. But whereas once he would have kept himself at a distance, he didn’t care as much here. He sits so close. If Keith asked, he would have said it was so they could talk quietly, but Keith doesn’t comment. There’s a line of fire where his body touches Keith’s. 

Keith catches him up with small stories. It’s slow, halting progress. Shiro can’t keep his eyes off of Keith. When Keith looks up the words drop away.

Realizing they’ve just been staring –realizing that he has Shiro back again to stare at– seems to floor Keith, and he laughs humorlessly as he scrubs a hand over his face. “This doesn’t feel real…” Keith admitted. 

Shiro laughs too. Sometimes that was all he could do. “Life stopped feeling real a long time ago.”

His palm sweats, and he twists it into the blanket to try to calm his nerves. Despite what Keith said earlier, they’re still circling something heavy, gravity drawing them together. Something fierce and familiar reignites in Keith’s dark eyes. 

Keith’s hand doesn’t stop moving across Shiro’s.

Shiro didn’t expect that he’d be the one to suddenly become tentative. He’s shaken, this world he woke up in has rewritten too much of what Shiro thought he knew. His eyes slip down to the collar around Keith’s neck, a constant reminder that they’re not free here, that it’s a much different fight than forming Voltron to fight Zarkon.

Keith shifts and reaches out to firmly tilt Shiro’s jaw up, making Shiro match his gaze rather than stare down at the offensive collar. When had he gotten so close? They’re nearly chest to chest, suddenly close enough to be sharing breaths between them. The hand on his face softens. 

The air between them suddenly has a heavy electric charge. 

Shiro’s focus flickers quickly between Keith’s eyes and his lips. He can feel Keith’s breath, they’re so close. It only takes a little shift for Keith to trace Shiro’s nose with his own. 

It’s almost too soft to feel when Keith’s lips first press into his, chaste and hesitant. Shiro lets his eyes fall closed. There’s too much left unsaid between them, and the uncertainty screams in his head, but for now…

He parts his lips, holding his breath in fear that the moment will shatter and leave him with nothing. Shiro’s fears melt as Keith deepens the kiss with tentative traces of his lips. 

Shiro makes a soft sound and pulls Keith closer. It’s achingly tender and gentle; unexpectedly so. There’s a reverence that belies their desperate situation. 

Shiro pulls back, eyes opening softly. He brings a hand between them to trace Keith’s lower lip in amazement. 

Neither of them have words. Shiro’s ready to drown Keith in whispered promises. There’s so much they need to say to each other. There’s too much to rediscover, to relearn. 

Shiro’s thoughts circle back to the time limit Keith had hedged about earlier. “One night,” he whispers, not sure if he can take finding Keith again only to be separated so quickly. He catches Keith’s hands, lets his thumbs stroke the back of them. There’s the promise of something else simmering below the surface of both of them, something so overwhelming that to rush it would be almost sacrilegious. But time is one thing neither of them seem to have. 

“We’ll have more,” Keith promises.

“But….” Shiro sighs, and tried to muffle it as he nuzzled into the side of Keith’s face. “Why now? If you’ve lived like this for…” he trails off, still unsure of the actual time that had disappeared between them. 

Keith picks up on his train of thought quickly. He links their fingers tightly together. 

Inseparable. 

“Because you’re here now,” Keith’s voice hardens. “That changes everything.”

**Author's Note:**

> Huge thanks to the VLD Tropes Mods for organizing this event!
> 
> -
> 
> This work is part of [VLD Tropes Fest](http://vldtropesfest.tumblr.com) | Comments and Kudos are appreciated | Anonymous creators will be revealed after the masterlist is posted!


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